Anima Medici
by PhunniestElaphant
Summary: A failed hunt leaves John hospitalized and comatose, and Dean and Sam don't know what attacked him. As they scramble to find a cure for John, they must unravel the mystery of his assault and find a way to evade the monster that crippled him. It's after something special, and Dean might just have what it's looking for. -Teenchester-
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I have played around with this story idea for at least two years, editing the plotline and completely trashing some first baby chapters. Fortunately I finally decided I would post it anyway. I am a hungry author and reviews will give me the much needed sustenance and motivation!**

Prologue

A small field was surrounded by a wall of dark trees, the only open area among the frozen forest. A man whose eyes held no color was perched high on a thick branch, veiled by layers of leaves. He could clearly see the man he had just attacked laid out unconscious, a stream of blood flowing from his nose and mouth stained the snow beneath him.

He enjoyed this part almost as much as the attack. Just observing the way the body looked, so vulnerable, so elegant in its brokenness. The black leather jacket ripped apart, strewn around the body's frame like the accents painted in the background of a mural. A violent painting he had created. The way the skin drained of color, almost matching the white ground, gave Him another rush as He felt the human's cells he sucked out revive His body, temporarily.

That was the con, however. This energy, this feeling was only fleeting. He'd have to find another human within another month or so.

If only he could find the perfect host. He would never have to renew his body again.

A shout grabbed his attention. Two boys came running out of the trees from the opposite side of the field. Both were young, one looked thirteen or fourteen, and the other was almost a man, his dark blond hair gelled up. They stooped down beside the body, Gel-Hair cradling it in his arms and tapping its cheek.

Something about Gel-Hair interested him. It could've been his aura, or his …hair? No, he chuckled at the thought.

When Gel-Hair looked in his direction, he drew farther into the cover of frozen leaves, but then he saw it. A certain fire was in his eyes. A vibrant determination, a need to live, was in him. He could spot it all the way to his soul. That was what he needed.

He'd have to keep an eye on that one.

Chapter One

The sound of the heart monitor was the only thing Dean had heard within the past hour.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

He tried to concentrate on it instead of the oxygen machine connected to Dad. Instead of his still, pale and bruised body covered by off-white hospital sheets. Instead of Dean's father, John, who was supposed to be strong and undefeatable, who kicks monster a** almost daily, rendered immobile by the coma.

He squeezed his hands together and squashed the threat of the hot tears welling up behind his eyes. He had to be strong for his brother, Sam, who could clearly see him from the other side of John's bedside. He sat there, trance-like, staring at John while grasping his limp hand.

Times like these it was hard to be strong, though. All the times Sam or Dad had been hurt before it always hurt him, and he always had to wear his strong, positive, big brother façade because that's what his father always expected him to do. 'Take care of Sammy' he always said. And that's what he always did. But he didn't want to have that full-time responsibility yet. He didm't want John to go.

He wouldn't let him.

Dean breathed in deeply and exhaled quietly, staring into the rays of morning sun that streamed through the room window. Sam ran his thumb over John's calloused right hand, the skin hanging off abnormally on his fingertips.

"He's never looked this pale before." Sam said quietly. He noticed the circles under Sam's eyes looked bruised. He chewed my lip. They'd been up all night waiting for test results, but Sam looked like he hadn't slept in days. He hated that his failure hurt him, too.

"I'm... sorry Sam." Dean spat out slowly. Then, louder, he said, "I should have been there for Dad. I'm going to...fix this. Somehow...I'll figure it out."

Sam let a strand of half-curl fall over part of his face, attempting to mask the flush crawling up his neck and cheeks. "It isn't always your job to do, you know." His voice cracked a tiny bit, but he pretended not to notice. "You're always trying to do things yourself, stupid. If the doctors don't have a solution then I'm not going to let you find another one alone." He brushed his hair away and gave him a determined stare.

The door was thrown open and Bobby came rushing in.

"Dean, Sam!" Bobby threw his arms around Dean, squeezing tight. "I'm so glad you kids are alright." He let go, then turned to Sam and did the same. He pulled back and surveyed them for a moment, then said, "Y'all look awful. No sleep?"

Dean nodded and turned from his gaze, glancing back at Dad.

He followed his eyes, placed his hand on his shoulder. "What happened, Dean?"

He don't want to tell him. He failed. Failed. Failed.

"Bobby, I…" It was so hard to say.

The door opened again and Dr. Okin came in with his clipboard in hand and bald spot combed over, unlike it was when they arrived last night.

He moved Bobby's hand away gently. He'd put off this explanation as long as he could.

"Hello, I'm guessing you're Bobby singer, their uncle, am I correct?"

 _Uncle_ Bobby nodded. "Dean told me over the phone that you would have the test results today."

"Yes, have them right here." He shook the clipboard and then pulled his bulky glasses from his pocket and began to read. "The results showed that his coma was somehow induced by an unknown toxin. We'll administer antibiotics for a while and if he improves, then we'll know treatment can continue and he will begin to recover. But if he doesn't, we'll have to continue testing, and, really, only time will tell us how severe he is and how successful we will be."

"Why are you going to give him antibiotics if you don't even know what kind of toxin is in him?" Dean asked.

"That is the procedure we take with all toxin-induced patients. We'll continue researching the toxin, and when we know we'll contact you." Dr. Okin was unfazed.

"What if the antibiotics you give him have the opposite effect?" He stood up and met the doctor's eyes. "Can you tell me you're one hundred percent sure they won't hurt him?"

Dr. Okin's squinty eyes flitted to John, "No, son, but-"

He clenched his jaw. "Don't call me son."

"Dean." Bobby said sternly.

"I understand your frustration, but this is the best way we can treat him with what little information we have."

"Sure, Doc." He sighed and sat back down and glared out the window.

Dean heard papers flip and zoned out when he heard "payment options." He stared at the willow trees that clung to the window, scraping back and forth by the angry force of the wind. His stomach tightened knowing that no knew when John would wake up. If doctors couldn't fix him then he'd have to find a way himself.

* * *

"You're crazy, Bobby. This is the worst time to even suggest the idea." Dean watched the number of houses they passed slowly diminish as more and more trees tinted by the dim orange morning glow replaced them. They were getting close.

"Just because you two are hunters don't mean you need to be dumb." Bobby wouldn't budge. He wouldn't even turn his eyes from the highway to glance at him.

Sam piped in from the backseat, "If you want to be an idiot the rest of your life then go ahead and drop out."

"Maybe I will" he smirked

"Not today. You're gonna be an Eagle at Sioux Falls High." Bobby half grinned.

Dean scoffed.

He began picking at his cuticles and noticed there was still blood caked into the skin surrounding his right ring finger. He thought he had managed to wash it all off. The reminder grated on him, his muscles tensed with renewed worry for John and the unsettling mystery of the attack.

The unspoken weight of it all sat like a fourth passenger in the truck, taking up space and making everyone quiet and uncomfortable.

He stared through the truck window and noticed a house sized rock almost swallowed by the forest, blanketed in kudzu. Bobby was going nearly sixty, so he almost missed the odd mark covered by muck and vines. It was a tear drop shaped carving with something running vertically through it, splitting it in two perfect halves.

"Did you see that, Bobby?"

"See what?"

"That huge rock we just passed. It had some kind of carving on the side."

"Kid, I ain't never seen no rock like that on this road as long as I've lived here."

He looked over his shoulder through the truck's back window hut he didn't see it anymore. Sam was staring out the left side window. "Did you see it, Sam?"'

He turned to Dean, his brown hair now long enough to reach his eyebrows and curl over his ears. "I don't know, I wasn't looking. We can always look for it on the way back."

"Yeah…yeah." He turned back around and slouched in the worn, warm seat. Weird.

Bobby grunted and scratched his greying facial hair, twisting the long ones around his finger. He gave him a quick expectant look.

"What?" he said.

Bobby was quiet for a moment, then looked in Dean's worried hazel eyes, "What happened?"

He didn't know if he could tell him. It was his fault, how could he admit that? He picked at the bloody cuticle again.

"It wasn't… Bobby…I, um…"

"We were out hunting in some woods a couple hours from here." Sam piped in from the back. Dean gave him a gracious look.

"There were a few people that had gone missing, all from those woods. We found a few bodies, both had been mauled by something, their clothes were all torn apart and they…um, they were bloodless."

Bobby knitted his brows together. "You think a vampire was what got to John." He stated.

"No, it's something different. You heard the doctor, he said there was a toxin in him. Vampires don't leave toxins, they just take blood."

He had to say it. He had to say it.

"Were you both with him when that happened?" Bobby said.

He had to say it, he needed to say it

Sammy started, "He caught sight of it before us and got really far ahead-"

"And we lost him," Dean said. "It was…my fault. If we had kept up we wouldn't have lost him. He wouldn't be hurt like he is." He stared out the window again, refusing to meet their eyes.

Sam squeezed his shoulder. "Stop that. It's not something we can reverse. Beating yourself up over it won't make anything better."

"We'll find a way, Dean. I promise. We'll go back to the place of the initial attack and see if we can find any clues. If that thing is still out there then it's probably going to keep racking up bodies. And besides, we never leave a job unfinished." Bobby full on smiled now. He tried to.

 _SCREEEEEETTTTCH_

Dean's head hulk smashed through the side window, glass circled and flew like trailers in a tornado, skinning his face. Green trees and red red red was everywhere as he felt the truck rotate like a planet kicked out of rotation.

Bobby's voice blasted out curses and harmonized with the sound of the straining brakes. They came to a sudden stop and his head was thrown back inside the truck, slamming against the headrest. He groaned, his vision spun and he felt sticky hot blood sting his eyes and slide down his cheeks. He watched as the drops fell in slow motion onto his faded blue jeans.

"Sammy…Bobby…ugh" Pain clawed at his right side and he clasped his hand over it, biting down on his lip.

"What was that?" Sam rubbed his temple, otherwise unscathed...then saw Dean. "Dean, omygod."

"I'm…fine. Bobby what-" A guttural wail interrupted him, and he turned to see a man wearing a cut up windbreaker picking himself up from the road, not three feet away. He lifted his head, torn skin hung off his jawline, revealing half his bottom teeth.

"Did we do that?" he asked. He locked his gaze on him, bruises pockmarking his face. He started running.

"Guess so." Bobby reached under his seat for a gun, but Almost Roadkill was already at Dean's door. Did he teleport?

He reached in through the broken window and wrapped his pale, dirty hands around Dean's, pulling. His burning ribs jarred, he screamed.

Sammy threw himself over Dean and stabbed at Almost Roadkill's arm, but he didn't even flinch. His eyes were black orbs, unfazed.

"Bobby, he's a demon!"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey guys, finally got this new chapter up after many read overs (and prolonged procrastination). Hope you all like it!**

Chapter 2

"You catch on quick don't ya?" The demon yelled, his grin wide and teeth bloody. He pulled Dean halfway through the window, yanked his arm out, and chomped down.

"Arrgghhh!" Dean punched the demon and freed his arm, blood and spit oozing from shredded skin.

Bobby whipped out his shotgun and aimed, but his door was swung open and it was wrenched from him into another demon's palm, a blonde with a green rain jacket. She chucked the gun into the edge of the woods.

"How 'bout you save us some time and trouble and give us the kid?" She grinned, black eyes twinkling. Bobby swung an open flask of holy water over her. She scrambled away and cursed.

"No deal. I don't care what you scum want. I don't do favors for monsters." He smirked. "Help Dean, Sam! I've got this one."

Sam jumped from the truck and swung his blade at the male demon, but he just jumped back and laughed.

"You scrawny string bean think you can take me on?" The skin hanging from his face swung around like chewed gum, spit slinging about. He put his fists up and hopped from foot to foot. "Come on kid, let's dance!"

"Sam, let me handle him." Dean moved into Sam's path, swiping the blood that crawled into his brows. He didn't want him taking this freak on alone.

"Don't, Dean. You're hurt, let me." Sam gave him his I'm-a-strong-puppy look.

"Not too hurt to shoot." Dean took out his gun from his belt.

"No. I can handle it. Watch me." Sam was stronger than Dean ever gave him credit for.

"Hey, how 'bout I just kill both of ya?" The demon rushed into Sam, throwing sharp punches left and right. Sam dodged each swiftly, using his small frame to his advantage. With each swing of his fist the demon left his abdomen unguarded, and when Sam saw an opening he kneed him in the gut.

The demon gasped and bent over, stumbling, "Little brat!"

Sam grinned, "Let's tango, gilipollas."

Suddenly a scream erupted into the foggy morning air and Bobby came tumbling over the hood and onto their side of the truck, squeezing his shoulder, his eyes pinched in pain. The blonde demon rounded the vehicle, swinging his trucker's hat around her finger.

"Bobby!" Dean leveled the gun and shot, but Blondie had pounced away like a cat. He aimed again but the gun flew from his grasp and he found himself pressed against the truck, the male demon driving his forearm into his throat.

Dean spluttered and thrashed, chucking his fists into the demon's face. He wouldn't budge. His body was flush against his, pressing the air from his lungs and immobilizing him. He seized his wrists in a vice grip and placed them above his head on the roof.

"Little Dean Winchester, huh, you're not as big a challenge as they made you out to be." His breath smelt of metal and ash trays. Broken glass crunched under their feet.

"Eat...sh*t," Dean barely wheezed out. What was he talking about?

"They've taken a big interest in you and your little brother, y'know. But especially you, Dean." The demon leaned in, his warm, slick lips tickling Dean's ear. "There's something about you they…well…admire." His slimy tongue slid over the thin blonde hairs of his sideburn and over his cheek, spit heating his already flushed face. Dean shuddered from disgust and thrashed again. He felt revolted.

"Get off...me!" He was vulnerable. The feeling of the demon's thighs on his was uncomfortable in a way he didn't want to contemplate.

"Dean!" Sammy yelled. Blondie jumped him, punching, throwing him to the ground and pinning him. Dirt was ground into his open mouth.

"I'm sorry I can't have you two for myself." The demon cut his teeth into his ear and he screeched. Dean wrenched an arm free and fumbled for the knife in his belt. The demon shoved his bony knee into his groin.

"Bastard," Dean spat out, cringing, and the demon grabbed the knife and drew it teasingly over his jaw in zig zags, then began to dig it in. Dean inhaled sharply.

"Don!" Blondie called, and he paused, a trickle of blood sliding down the blade. "Don't kill him! Those were not the orders."

Dean could see Sam writhing about under Blondie, his nose bloody.

"I was just having a little-"

Shots rang out.

The pressure at Dean's throat relented, and Don slipped to the pavement. Dean coughed and saw Bobby sitting up on the ground holding his shotgun, a lump forming on his temple.

Dean rubbed his throat and jaw, then pulled his hand away and saw blood smears on his palm. Nothing he hadn't felt before.

Sam pushed limp Blondie off him and sat on his knees and spat out grass, his hair masking him.

"Nice shot, Bobby. That was quick for two." Dean held out a hand and pulled Bobby gently to his feet, his hand applying pressure to his shoulder.

Bobby shook his head slowly.

"What?"

"I didn't shoot the blonde."

"What do you mean? They're both…" Dean looked up and saw movement at the edge of the woods. A figure stood there, parallel to the road. A man in a floor-length navy cloak with a long hood covering his face lowered his gun, then retreated.

"Hey!" he yelled, but the man was gone.

Who was that?

Sam saw the man too. He looked over at Dean, then said, "Looks like we've got more to look into."

Bobby threw his cap back on. "Boys, y'all know what that woman was spouting on about?"

Dean shook his head. He had no clue what that demon was going on about, but he felt anxious about it. Scared, not that he would admit it.

Sam crouched next to Blondie's body, surveying it.

"You guys need to take a look at this." He moved Blondie's head, her mouth slightly agape. "Look in her mouth."

A small circle tattoo with three lined dots sat on the top of her tongue. Black ink.

"Some kind of seal?" Dean said.

"Pretty weird place for one." Bobby moved over to Don and slid his jaw open.

"He's got the same thing. Exactly."  
"Maybe they're in some kind of demon clan?" Sam said.

That would make sense, considering what Don had said.

Dean grabbed Don's body and started sliding him off the road. "Let's get rid of them."

All the lockers were red. A deep, burning red. Sam had never been in a school with red lockers before. He loathed it. Everywhere he went, there had to be something to remind him of the life he lived with Dean and their father. Something that screamed death was crouching behind a near corner, always waiting and ready to threaten another life at any moment. And now it reminded him of John, how he looked in that clearing in the woods, all cut up and bloody. He'd seen plenty of gory scenes before, of course, but it was different when it was family. It was like seeing blood for the first time.

Sam shivered. The first bell rang and clumps of teenage bodies filled the cream colored hallways.

Most of all he was haunted by his ambiguity. His love for his father was set deeply inside him, and John's absence sat like a burning coal in Sam's stomach. Yet he felt guilty.

Because John was in the hospital, trapped in his own body, in a coma, and Sam wanted freedom.

Freedom from the constant moves, from never being able to really put roots into any friendship because it would end, like it always did, with them packing up and driving towards the smoke that wafted in, hinting at a new hunt or a fresh clue that would finally lead them to their mother's killer. He wanted to be carefree, successful. Normal.

But he shouldn't want that. He should want what John wanted.

Sam sighed. Seeing John almost die showed him how close to death he really was, how close they were. And now that something seemed to be after Dean or himself, it felt like they were all tottering on the precipice of something more dangerous than they'd ever faced before. Was getting justice really worth all the risks? Should they keep hunting and searching for answers about what attacked John or wait until the doctors found one?

Sam blew his wavy bangs away from his eyes, shrugged his backpack higher on his shoulder, and pulled out his neatly folded class schedule. Bio 1 was his first class. A requirement for freshmen. Dean wasn't going to be in class, he was sure. He had walked in the front doors with Sam and then split. He didn't have a good excuse for it, since it had been three days since the wreck, and Dean had healed up within the first two.

Sam understood, though. Dean hated school, and he wanted to find something that would help them fix John. Bobby told them both he'd research but Dean was relentless. Dean blamed himself, and it was taking a toll on him.

The crowded halls were beginning to disperse. Sam dug around in his pocket and pulled out the sticky note with his locker combo scrawled in the quirky front desk lady's fine cursive. His locker was on the corner of the upper level science hallway. He walked over to it and noticed paint was peeling off the left side and a lopsided smiley-face was carved into the bottom right corner.

An overwhelming aroma swept around him and Sam gagged. He covered his nose and looked around for the source and saw a couple of tall guys, probably a year or two ahead of him, standing in the corridor at the end of the hall, snickering. Sam ignored them and put his combo in.

The locker swung open, dumping a bucket full of butchered fish guts all over Sam. He yelped and jumped away, but most of the raw, bloody entrails stuck to his hair and the excess liquid soaked his shirt. A big note was stuck to the back of the locker, _Welcome Fresh Meat_.

Sam covered his mouth and nose, trying not to vomit. He franticly brushed the meat off his arms, his shoulders, his clothes… _oh God. Don't throw up._

The two jerks howled, clutching their stomachs and jeering. The scene had drawn every eye in a thousand mile radius, most laughing and pointing, some exuding smidgens of sympathy. Sam turned away from them, shame wrapping its burning presence over every inch of him. His hands shook, lukewarm goo on them, too.

Of course he was the perfect victim; the word was burned onto his back. Little brainy Winchester. He could beat both of those jerks handicapped if he wanted. But he wouldn't, couldn't. Winchesters hunted monsters, not humans. He had to be careful not to cross that line.

Sometimes it was hard to tell where that line was.

"We'll smell you soon, fresh meat!" The taller of the two coughed/laughed again. Sam slammed the locker and kicked the pile of bowels and cut up organs that pooled around his shoes. Nausea curled around his stomach. _Don't throw up, don't throw up._

Sam held his stomach and pinched his nose again, closed his eyes. _Calm down, don't cry, don't throw up_. He grabbed his bag, the only clean thing on him. He needed a bathroom. He needed to burn the clothes off his back. Okay, not burn, he'd just bathe in the sink...

"Ugh, disgusting! Young man, is this your mess?"

Sam opened his eyes. A pudgy woman in a teal dress suit stood near him, next to the bucket and its contents, one hand on her hip, the other pinching her beak nose.

He would not stay here, smell that any more. He'd melt into a matching pile of raw embarrassment.

"Young man! Come back here!" Sam sprinted past her, past the bastard jock-straps, away from the spilled guts.

A tall boy with sunshine hair suddenly burst out of a classroom and directly into his path, like a stray sunbeam, blinding.

"Oomph!" Sam fell with him and crashed to the floor, his bag busting open and spilling its contents. His nose smacked into the waxed linoleum and pain blossomed over his face.

Their legs tangled, and Sam felt the heat of the boy's chest. He looked up at Sam, annoyed, his diamond blue eyes sparkling, then widening as if in recognition. Sam rolled off him and blushed.

The boy sat up and brushed off his black Metallica shirt, wrinkling his nose. "Dude, is that fish on you?"

Sam felt blood trailing down his chin and lips. He brushed his nose and grimaced. Hand was bloody. His face was a red flower, for sure.

"Young. _Man."_ Teal Suit click-clacked toward them.

The two jock straps locked their laser beam eyes on Metallica dude, their faces transforming with rage. "Hey, it's Willows!" They started to stomp towards them.

"Sh*t, we gotta go." Willows stood up and pulled Sam with him, his grip tight on Sam's wrist.

"H-hey! Why-" Sam stumbled.

"Shut up and run!" Willows shouted, his eyes sparking an electric blue.

They sprinted through the corridor and down a nearby staircase that smelled of cigarettes, down two flights and into a hallway in what looked like the basement. The once white walls had faded into a duller shade, yellow tainting the edges and corners. There weren't any lockers, just random machinery set out.

Willows pulled Sam down the last hallway they saw and into a room lit by emergency lights filled with broken desks and oversized fake trees and plants, some abnormal shades of orange and purple. Willows locked the door and pressed his back to the wall, exhaling. He motioned for Sam to do the same.

Sam moved, wondering why the jerk wads were after Willows. Their breathing was practically loudspeaker level in the quiet room.

Whistling came from the hallway, followed by bigfoot-stomping.  
"Come out you little d*ck heads. We gotta square ourselves."

"If they find us, I'll take 'em. You run." Willows whispered. He sounded like Dean, confident to the point of recklessness.

"No way, there's two of them. You need another hand." Sam's words floated feather-soft.

Willows flipped open a silver switch blade, the handle shaped like brass knuckles. "Already got one."

Metal doors exploded open farther down the hall. "We won't skin ya both if you come out!" Another one. "Okay, just one." Nasally laughter.

"Why are they after you?" Sam asked, close to Willows ear.

He grinned. "Their humor isn't on the same level as mine." Another door slammed, closer this time. They both tensed. "Run when I signal."

A long, loaded silence ensued. No more busting doors, no floor-crushing stomping. Sam's heart beat its little scared fists against his chest. Their breathing almost took on a heavy, physical form.

A guttural scream clawed through the cracks of the door like a tortured lion.

"Get it off me! Get it off me! Nick, GET IT OFF ME!"


	3. Chapter 3

Anima Medici

Chapter 3

There was no signal. Willows just tore the door open and they both burst into the hallway to the sight of the jock-who-wasn't-Nick- screaming, thrashing. Blood spewed from his buff shoulder like a geyser, staining his blue jersey as a large, rabid man chewed on him like a T-bone steak. He held the jock in a death grip, trapping him in his arms. Pieces of cloth from the jersey went into the monster's mouth, along with muscle and skin.

"Aw…Brent…oh sh*t oh sh*t." Nick was plastered to the wall, wide eyed, shaking.

Sam pulled a large knife out of his shoe and steadied himself, but before he could even think to use it Willows was pushing him back.

"Get out of here!" Willows pulled out his brass knuckled knife and swung, aiming for the monster's abdomen. He dodged, ripping out a chunk out of Brent's shoulder with his teeth. Brent howled and fell to his knees, gripping his shoulder.

Sam didn't leave. Willows was abnormally calm and fierce, that was all the more reason for Sam to stay. This guy was way too at home fighting. Maybe…maybe he was a hunter.

The rabid monster chewed on the rest of Brent's severed flesh, smacking and then swallowing loudly. He grinned and rubbed the blood from the corners of his mouth. He was tall and young with slightly grown out buzz cut, he probably wasn't much older than Dean. He crouched predatorily and his eyes locked on Sam's.

They were black. Sam tensed.

"You two should run. I'm tempted to eat all of you, and I don't want to do that. My stomach hurts when I overeat."

Rabid lunged for Sam. He dived below his outstretched arm and stabbed his knife into Rabid's upper thigh, then rolled away from his grasp.

Rabid just grinned and pulled it out, then dangled it in the air tauntingly. "Want it?"

 _He didn't even flinch._

Willows moved beside Sam and handed him another knife. "Hold onto that one."

Willows could to hold his own. All the better. Sam leaned into his ear, "We've got to get him away from Nick and Brent. Will you distract him while I move them out?"

Willows grinned mischievously and twirled his knife, "Distractions are my specialty." He moved towards Rabid.

"I'm tired of you disrupting my meals. Can't I just enjoy my entrees?"

"Sorry bro this particular area doesn't serve humans. Maybe you should mix things up and try eating something a little less alive." Willows hurled himself at the demon, swinging his knife furiously. Rabid met the attack swiftly.

Sam took the opportunity and grabbed Brent, who was laid out on his side, blood pooling around his shoulder and head, and hefted him up by his armpits. He groaned, and when Sam tried to get him on his feet his legs wobbled and gave out. Sam changed tactics and started dragging him to Nick, who was still shaking against the wall.

"Nick. Nick, look at me." He stared blankly at the machinery that was set out not far from them. Sam pulled one of his arms away from Brent and slapped him. His eyes widened as his hand flew to his cheek and finally registered Sam's presence.

"Take him with you and run."

Sam handed Brent off as he groaned from his shoulder being jostled. Nick dragged Brent's bulky frame into the stairwell.

Rabid heard it. He dodged another right-handed jab of Willow's and spun around, sweeping his leg around and knocking out Willow's legs. He fell backwards, arms reeling, and smacked his head on a rusted pipe sticking out of a random machine. He slumped over, fighting unconsciousness.

"Willows!"

"You trying to take my food away, kid?" Rabid made a grab for Nick's sleeve as he retreated, but Sam drew his knife and cut across his cheek.

He inhaled sharply, and before Sam could move he'd snaked his hand around his arm and hit his elbow joint. A loud pop echoed and Sam screamed.

Rabid pushed him to the ground, still holding his arm. He yanked it to the side and Sam cried out again. Rabid laughed for a moment but stopped abruptly.

"You shouldn't play with your food." Willows said, clutching his head. He drew back his knife from its sheath in Rabid's chest. He fell in a heap.  
Sam cradled his arm, breathing hard. "Thanks." He began to stand when a thought hit him.

He squatted back down beside Rabid and tried to peek into his slightly open mouth. Sure enough, there it was. Another marking on his tongue, a circle with three vertical dots inside just like the demon's that had attacked them in Bobby's truck. What did it mean?

"What are you looking for?"

Sam stood up slowly. He didn't think he should tell this guy about his query, not yet. He'd just met him, after all. Best to be cautious. Besides, he still didn't know…

"How'd you learn to do all that?"

"I should be asking you the same thing. You're obviously not just another run-of-the-mill fighter. Why're you carrying a huge freakin' knife in your shoe?"

"So I don't lose it, obviously. I keep my money there, too. Safest place for it." Sam grinned shyly. That probably sounded dumb. Dean was always the better liar.

"Uh-huh." Willows drew it out sarcastically and folded his arms over his chest. "What's your name?"

"It's Sam…Winchester. You?"

"Jase Willows, short for Jasper. " He stuck his hand out. Sam shook it with his non-injured one. His grip was firm. "You're a hunter, aren't you?"

Sam dropped his hand. "I'm guessing that means you're one too."

"Yeah. You're kinda small to be doing this kind of work."

This guy wasn't very subtle, was he? Sam bristled. "I can take care of myself. Most people who are in it didn't choose to be."

Will…Jase studied him for a moment, his blue eyes softening. "You hate it?"

"Don't tell me you don't. No one really loves it."

"I've just learned to accept it, look on the bright side. At least I'm not of them. You know, those oblivious saps who get killed jacking off in their morning shower."

Sam laughed. "Doesn't really matter if you're oblivious or not. You could die anywhere."

"True." He observed Sam's arm, which he was still cradling gently. A lump had started to swell and protrude around his elbow joint. "Hey, I'll make ya a deal. Help me get rid of this guy and I'll take you to someone who can fix up your arm."

Jase seemed nice enough now, but still.

"Alright. You let me hang onto your knives and I'll go."

"I understand, it's cool." He handed him his switchblade. Sam tucked it into his jeans pocket. "If you're de-weaponing me then I trust you won't be secretly plotting to stab me."

"Sure", Sam said.

* * *

It took Dean a very long time to find it. An exceptionally long period of time. He must've driven past it a dozen times. Driving back and forth along the road into Sioux Falls had left him frustrated and seriously questioning if he hadn't just imagined the whole thing. Then he remembered how uncreative his brain was, and decided to look one more time.

It suddenly appeared, in a place he'd seen empty every other time he'd looked in its direction. Maybe it had risen from the ground like a secret rocket or government base. Either way, it was here, the same as he'd seen it on the drive in. It was a mammoth rock covered in Kudzu and missing a chunk off the right side, like someone had tried to break it with explosives and failed epically.

On the left corner was the mark, almost invisible behind all the weeds. A tear drop split down the middle by something he couldn't make out. The whole thing looked like it was carved into the rock, and maybe painted over by something long-lasting. It looked old, though. The paint was a similar shade of grey, only a tiny bit darker than the rock itself.

The whole thing gave him a weird vibe. But it seemed more important than a normal rock. It bewildered him.

He pulled his leather coat tighter around him when the cool October breeze came through. He walked towards it, reaching his hand out to feel its texture, but before his fingers grazed its surface something looped around his ankle. Tight.

His breath was whisked out of him and he found himself dangling like a piñata from one of the many tall oaks next to the rock. He flung his arms and yelled, the rope digging into his ankle, the friction cutting his skin.

He flung his hands down in frustration. This was great.

Sh*t.

Crunching leaves broke through the woods silence. Dean jerked his head and saw a cloaked figure approach from behind the rock. The guy's face was hidden but he recognized him.

It was the cloaked man that killed the blonde demon.

"Hey, would you mind getting me down from here? Heights make me nauseous."

The cloaked figure stood unmoving. Okay…new tactic.

"Man, I know you must be disappointed that you didn't catch yourself a wabbit, and I understand it's the right season and all, but if you'll let me down–". He lost his words when he saw the dagger fly from the cloaked figure's hand directly towards him.

Dean swung to the side trying to evade fatal harm and heard the sharp snapping of the rope. He felt a moment of weightlessness then came plummeting to ground. His back slammed into a thick tree root snaking along the ground and he groaned.

The cloaked man charged him. He jumped back to stand but felt blood rush from his head, slowing his movements. Before he could dodge, he was shoved to the ground on his stomach, his arms jerked behind him and the cool metal of another dagger was pressed into his jugular. A knee dug into his spine and hot breath flooded over his ear.

"Why are you sneaking around here?" The voice was light yet steady.

"Why do you have a trap set?"

"I asked you first. It's in your best interest to give me an answer." The dagger pressed deeper into his skin.

"Okay, okay, look, I was just walking around."

His arms were pulled tighter. He clenched his teeth.

"Bull. They sent you here, am I right?" Dean turned his head and strained his eyes to see the guy's face but only saw a blur of brown.

"What? No, I don't work for anyone but myself. Can you please get off now?"

"Stick out your tongue."

"What–" Fingers dug into his jaw and pulled it open. The dude's face came into eyesight. His eyes were shaded by the large hood of the cloak but Dean could see the fullness of his lips and tan skin. The pressure on his throat lessened. His chance had come.

He yanked his right arm free and shoved his elbow into the man's ribs, then knocked the blade from his palm. The man pulled his captive arm tighter, but Dean bucked his hips and kicked his leg up, making impact with the man's head.

The tension on his arm let up and he felt the man fall back. Dean jumped and switched places, pushing the man's shoulders into the cold dirt and straddled his waist.

Only the man was slack. His body wasn't tense and his navy hood fell back, revealing…

A woman.

Dean didn't usually get bashful around girls anymore, but he felt his cheeks redden immediately when he saw her. Her black hair fanned out around her slender and tan face, accented with high cheekbones, large doe-eyes that were closed now and plump lips that were slightly parted. She looked about his age, her body…was mature.

He moved his hands away from her shoulders and, without a shred of guilt, ogled her chest. It was covered with a loose navy T shirt, matching her cloak, but he could tell it was full. His conscious suddenly screamed at him

 _Do not touch. Do not touch. Dean, you horny womanizer, get away from her._

His hand hovered over her left breast like an alien spaceship; foreign, unwanted, and curious.

That sounded a lot weirder than he thought it would.

He looked to her face and saw her brown eyes were wide open and feral. She slapped him, hard.

"You pervert! Get off me!" She drew her arm back for another hit but Dean grabbed her wrist.

"Tell me why you're setting traps and lurking around here in a wannabe super hero outfit." Dean was now very conscious of their bodies. _Don't think about it._

"I don't have to tell you anything."

"Why did you help me when I was fighting those demons?"

She yanked her arm back, but her scowl lost a tiny bit of its edge. "So you're a hunter?"

"As if you hadn't guessed that before."

"Whoever helped you, it wasn't me. And if you want me to listen to anything else you say you'll show me your tongue."

Dean huffed and stuck his tongue out, then wiggled it and said, "There, you happy?"

"I'd feel even better if you'd get your bony a** off me."

He rolled off her and willed down every bad thought that danced around the front of his mind. Look at him, getting all excited about a girl when John was still in the hospital. He was terrible for letting it happen, but he was despicable for daring to forget about it.

"My a** is not bony."

"If you say so, bony-butt." She let a tiny smirk show but then hid it away again.

Dean worked the remainder of the rope off his ankle. "You know about hunters, and you're out here hunting…" he thought about saying wabbits again but decided against it. "Are you one, too, then?"

"You could say that. I don't travel but my family and I take care of things around here." She sat up and dusted the dirt from her clothes.

"Your family?"

Her stance became guarded. "You're trying to get me to tell you my life story? First tell me why you came out here."

Dean grinned. "You're persistent, aren't you?" She was unamused. He pressed on. "I came into town a few days ago and saw this on the drive in. I got a weird feeling about it, and my brother and uncle somehow missed the huge thing. My uncle's lived here a long time and when I told him about it he said he'd never seen it before. So I thought I'd check it out."

The girl gave him an odd look. "You're looking for something."

He thought of John again. "Yeah, how'd you guess?"

"This rock is …well, come here." She stood up and walked around to the backside of the rock/boulder, Dean following behind. This side was coated in Kudzu and she moved a large wad of it aside, displaying an ornate carving of a young woman. Half her face was normal, her features soft and her expression content, but the other side showed her features dissipating and floating away like burning embers from a fire. The afternoon sun made the hue of the carving vibrant, almost lifelike. It was beautiful.

"Wow," Dean said, in genuine awe.

"Yeah, there are more carvings all over this thing, but this is one of my favorites." She brushed her thin fingers over the carving and looked lost in thought.

"Why?"

She tensed and pulled her hand away. "No reason. Anyway, if you're looking for something maybe you should look at more of the carvings. A lot of people come here and when they're in need of something. It's served as a sort of North Star for lost things, lost people."

He furrowed his brows. "If it's such a tourist locale then why did you have a huge trap set out back there?"

She pulled away another patch of kudzu a few feet away, revealing more pictures, but a few had been crudely carved over with another shape. A circle with three vertical dots inside. Dean's eyes widened.

"A couple weeks ago some people started coming here just so they could ruin the designs on this rock. This thing is hundreds of years old. It's special, to me and to the people who have come here and found help. I'm not going to sit back and watch them do it." Her brown eyes looked ablaze.

He didn't really believe in whatever mumbo-jumbo she claimed the rock had, but that circle symbol was all he needed to see. This girl seemed determined. Maybe she could help hm.

"Those symbols right there, the ones they carved over the pictures, they might be connected to some demons I'm after. If they're the same as the people trashing this thing, then maybe we can help each other."

"How?"

He tapped the ankle that had been strung up. "Easy. We set a trap."

Her face brightened a bit but she still didn't smile. "Okay, but you better not try anymore funny business or you're gonna wake up one morning without a testicle."

Dean threw his hands up and slightly cringed internally. "Hey, consider these the hands of an angel."

She scoffed. "Hardly. I suggest we meet back here in three days, Thursday around six. I think they're coming here around a little after dusk. I'll have my traps ready by then. What can you do?"

"A lot of things. But shooting is one of my specialties. Thursday, then?" It was starting to get dark so he wanted to get back before Bobby knew he'd skipped school.

"Yeah."

He turned and began to trek back to the Impala, waving his hand out as farewell.

"Hey!"

He paused and glanced back and she said, as she pulled her hood back over her head, "Raven―I mean, Ray. Ray Willows.

He grinned big and said. "Dean Winchester. Glad to meet ya, Ray."


	4. Chapter 4

Anima Medici

Chapter 4

Sam didn't want to look like a baby, but he still couldn't help but wince when Jase's mom pushed it back in place. His arm wasn't broken, thank heavens, but it was dislocated. He had to give the lady credit, though, she knew exactly what she was doing.

She'd introduced herself as Nova, and demanded he not call her 'ma'am' or 'misses' because of the "age it tacked onto her name." Sam guessed she was around forty. Her short black hair was cropped above her ears and she carried her small frame strongly. He'd taken an educated guess at that since she'd come home in scrubs shortly after Jase and he had arrived.

Their home was warm and smelled like freshly cut wood. It was in a comfortable neighborhood, tucked behind a large mimosa tree at the end of a cul-de-sac. The inside was cozy, leather furniture with coffee browns and contrasting whites. Paintings of the ocean and cottage-view sunsets lined the walls along with family pictures.

He squinted at one particular portrait. A young Jase was wrapped in Nova's embrace. Nova was grinning away from the camera at the tall man beside her, whose sunshine hair mirrored Jase's. Beside him was a slightly taller child, a girl with raven black hair and a tentative smile.

"The man in the picture was my husband, Don. He passed on a good seven years ago." Nova took a seat in the adjacent floral couch across from Sam and took on a nostalgic look. "The little girl is my niece, Ray. She's been living with us since she was about ten." She handed Sam an ice pack and he pressed it against his relocated joint.

"I'm sorry for your loss." He gave a sympathetic smile. He'd been hesitant to pry, but Nova seemed to be pretty open. "How did Ray come to live with you?

"She was orphaned after my sister and her husband were murdered. They were good people, but their kindness got them into trouble too many times." She paused, ran her calloused hand through her curly hair, but then her face took on a stern look. Her eyes became stone-like, and she opened her mouth to say something until Jase cleared his throat loudly.

He popped his head out from the kitchen, "So mom, Sam's a hunter."

That was sudden. "Uh..., well I…"

Nova took on a more comfortable position in her seat. "I thought you might be. Jase is a real socialite but he doesn't trust many people anymore. I knew if he brought you home you had to be something special, and considering the weird incidents lately, I figured it would draw some of you out soon. You're awful young, though. Don't tell me you're hunting on your own?"

Something special, huh? "I'm here with my brother, visiting my uncle. But, uh, what other incidents are you referring to?"

Jase strolled into the living room with a plate of cooked ham and broccoli. "Incidents like the one we dealt with. They started up about a month ago, and now they're happening more frequently." He plopped onto the couch next to Sam and stuffed a wad of ham in his mouth. "Random people get possessed and start gnawing on people like dogs to a bone."

Sam looked to Nova, "When we came into town a few days ago we were attacked by a couple demons, and they had an odd marking on their tongues. I noticed the rabid guy we fought off earlier had the same thing. I've never seen that kind of thing on a demon before. Do either of you know anything about it?"

Jase's cheeks puffed out from the wad of food he was attempting to chew. He looked at Sam and said, "Weh nomb noff-"

"Jase." Nova shot him a stinky eye. "We encountered a few other cannibalistic demons, but I never looked close enough to notice a marking. Guess I was too busy trying to kill them."

Since both the demons Sam had seen with the mark had also been cannibalistic, maybe they were all related somehow.

"You know, you've got some great skills, Sam. We could definitely use another fighting hand." Jase said, smiling.

Sam hesitated. If he offered to help them, it might hinder him from finding a cure for his Dad. That was top priority, it needed to be. "Well, I'm not sure if I can. The thing is, we came into town because my Dad was hurt on his last hunt. And now…now he's in a coma…and the doctors don't currently have a solution. So we have to find a way to help him."

Jase put his empty plate down and face Sam. "Then maybe we can help each other. We'll do whatever we can to help your Dad if you'll help us find out what's causing these weird cannibal possessions."

"Well, I, maybe I should talk it over with my Uncle."

"Sure thing. Hey, would you like to stay the night? I want to show you my place."

Sam tentatively agreed and was immediately dragged out the backdoor, Jase smiling giddily. This guy just seemed to be in a constant state of excitement.

They crossed the backyard and climbed up into a little treehouse built into the middle of another mimosa tree, its thick branches spread out like fat spider legs. Jase pushed up a small square floorboard and pulled Sam inside.

The walls were covered in band posters and multicolored sticky notes of various sizes with messy handwriting. Lighthouse wind chimes were hanging in each corner, four yellow bean bag chairs surrounded a wood table covered in art utensils in the center of the room. A small desk sat in the right corner, a big fluffy wheely chair tucked in.

A floorboard creaked from Sam's step. "Ouch!' Jase exclaimed.

Sam whipped around. "What is it?"

He pointed to the floorboard. "You stepped on me."

"What?"

Jase waved his hands around the room. "This whole place is me. It's an extension of myself, I built it all on my own. So don't break anything, you could damage my rib or break my leg. Then you'd have to push me around in a wheelchair to make up for the compensation."

What an odd guy. "What makes you think I'd care about compensation?"

"Because I'd beat you with my crutches."

"You wouldn't have crutches if you were in a wheel chair."

"Sure I could if only one leg was broken."

Sam laughed. "If I caused you injury you'd definitely have two broken legs."

Jase raised an eyebrow. "Is that a threat?"

"Depends on your perspective."

Sam walked around, looking closer at the decorations. Metallica, Def Leopard, and other hair bands were the featured wall art. The sticky notes were a little hard to read, not to mention overwhelming. It looked like office depot had thrown up in here. One yellow note said, _**Be brave.**_ Another, _**The point is important.**_ An orange one was written in pink pen, _**Morning's dawn promises another chance.**_

"What's all this?"

Jase laughed awkwardly, "It's kinda cheesy." His face flushed the tiniest bit, but his smile pretty much engulfed his whole face in goofiness. "They're just little encouragements I write myself sometimes. It helps me deal a lot, with the hunting and all that."

Sam was almost taken aback. Jase seemed full of silliness and bravado, but in here, he'd laid out these little pieces of positivity. It was…endearing.

Sam felt a tiny twinge of jealousy. He had been forced to hide his feelings, his fears, because Dean and Dad had always set the example of what strength was supposed to be. To them, it was better hidden by distractions, best not dealt with. This was different.

"Doing small stuff like this has kept me from completely losing my mind, because of the lifestyle and everything. And anyway, it wasn't my decision to get involved."

"I know what that's like. My mom was killed when I was a baby, and since then my Dad has been on this revenge streak. But one day I'm gonna get out." Sam wouldn't normally be this open about such personal things, but Jase had a way of making him feel…understood. "I'm tired of having to live for my Dad's own vendetta."

"Do you think it's possible to get out?"

"Never know until you try."

"Sometimes trying gets you killed. Mom wouldn't say it earlier but trying was how my Dad and my cousin's parents were killed. They all grew up hunting and all tried to leave it behind, but eventually, it caught up to them. Their deaths spurred Mom's vengeance, and then Ray and I got pulled in for the ride."

Jase's eyes focused on Sam's, anger and passion lighting them up

"Then he turned and plopped down on one of the bean bags, and Sam did the same, brushing off his self-consciousness. A sketchbook was hidden beneath a pile of fancy markers and paper clips. Sam retrieved it and shook it, "Can I look?" Jase nodded and Sam flipped it open.

A man on the first page was drawn in the center, fine lines perfectly displaying his mixed look of wonder and confusion as he gazed up towards the charcoal clouds. His shoes were the only thing with color. Turning the pages, Sam saw a lot of the same thing. Various figures with a wide range of emotions contorting their faces and a single splash of color on a random portion of the page.

"That's one of my older books, I have more recent ones tucked away. Just ended up looking through that one recently."

"These are really good, though. Maybe you should consider selling your art."

"Oh nah, I couldn't ever do that. Everything I make is pretty personal and it'd feel too much like being seen naked."

Sam laughed, then noticed a crumpled paper underneath the pens and pulled it out. He unfolded it and puffed out a "wow" as he studied it. A shirtless man was sobbing tears of red, blue, and purple, his head thrown back with vibrant drops staining his white clothes and puddling under him. Five Black bodiless hands reached down from the top of the paper, yanking his arms up and digging their sharp nails in his skin. His hair was sunshine blonde. A self-portrait.

"Why'd you crumple this up?" Sam asked

Jase was staring at one of the wind chimes. "Well, I was angry when I drew it and sad when I finished…but I think it was because I didn't want to have to remind myself why I felt that way."

Sam smoothed out the crumpled edge of the sketch.

"I know it sounds wimpy."

"Not at all. I think you show strength in here." Sam ran his fingers over the pencil indentions, concentrating on his words. "Everybody – the whole idiotic world – says guys have to always be strong, impenetrable forces devoid of emotion, and I think that's bull. We can't just bottle everything up all the time, because, just like shook up coke bottles, we explode." Dean briefly crossed his mind then. "This is your way of dealing, and it's a really great way. You make beautiful things out of your pain. And that is a beautiful thing."

Sam tucked the crumpled sketch into the sketchbook and looked back up. Jase's eyes were glossy.

"Thank you." He said.

The rest of the night they talked about random things, like 'What if there are alien-mutants out there, too?' and 'I once ate fifteen spicy egg rolls for a dare.' Sam felt at ease, something that didn't seem to happen very often. This was different than conversations he had with his Dad and Dean. He didn't feel dumb for seeing things the way he did, and he wasn't brushed off when they disagreed. He was seen as he is: Different.

But Jase was different, too.

Soon their chatter gave way to snoozing, and Sam's easiness left him as the memory of John's broken body in the snow and Dean's shout of terror weaved itself into his dream, along with the overwhelming feelings of uncertainty, indecision, and fear.


End file.
